Show Business
by Donna Rose
Summary: Circus!AU. Clint and his brother have run away from an orphanage to join the circus. There they meet a very..interesting cast. A tale of the adventure, love and drama behind the tents. Featuring most/all of the Avengers as Circus performers, with Nat and Clint as the main characters. Clintasha.
1. Prologue

_So this is a Circus AU, a stupid brainchild of mine that refuses to go unwritten. Basically, it's the Avengers...in the circus. Tony, however, as much as I love him, will not make a large appearance. All the Avengers will have a part, but it will focus on Clint and Natasha. (I'll be shipping them, of course.) Reviews are politely requested. _

* * *

"'Do you really think this is a good idea? I mean- where're we gunna go?" A harsh whisper said near Clint's ear, breath clouding in the chilly October air.

"Anywhere but here, Barnes. Besides- I have a few ideas." Clint whispered back, grinning at his brother. It was a clear night, a full moon hanging in the sky, giving an excitingly haunting glow to everything. Clint started walking away from the house, leaves crunching beneath his feet, before noticing the absence of footfall behind him. He swiveled around on his heal, boots digging in to the ground. "Aren't you coming?" He asked, looking strangely at his tawny-haired brother who was still glued to the spot. "Don't tell me you want to stay."

"It's not that," Barney paused, groaning. "What happens if we get caught? And we come back and they'll be angr-"

"We're not going to get caught," He said, and he was absolutely sure of it. He'd planned this carefully. "Unless you keep standing there making me yell." Which was an exaggeration, though, because his voice hadn't dared risen over a hoarse whisper.  
Barney sighed.

"Fine." Slowly he started walking towards Clint, pack of clothes and a the few personal items deemed light enough to take along. "Good." Clint answered, starting to walk, too.

As soon as they were off the orphanage property, Barney broke in to a run, speeding past Clint and out in to a small forest. Clint laughed and ran after him, navigating through trees and jumping over a few fallen ones skitting to a halt when he came to a clearing, having easily outrun Barney.  
He turned his head towards his brother, who was catching up quickly. He ran up next to Clint and took a few deep breaths.

"No more running, yeah?" Barney asked between wheezes.

"Jeez, tuckered out already? We've got a long way to go yet." Clint said, looking out to the main road, which stretched on and on. A few stray cars zoomed down it. He sighed and started walking again.

"Where're we going, then?" Barney asked, still trailing behind. Clint grinned even if his brother couldn't see it.

"Oh, you'll see." He answers, still grinning. He stuffs the hand that is not holding his sack in to his pocket.

"I think, since I'm the older brother here, I deserve to know." Barney stated.

"Fine then, we're going to the circus." He answered, continuing to walk ahead. Barney stopped in his tracks.

"The circus?" He yelled. "You're out of your mind, Clint Barton."

"No I'm not!" He replied, turning around quickly. "The circus leaves day after tomorrow. If we can persuade them that we're useful, then we're on the train and half-way to Illinois!"

"Still don't think this is a good idea, Clint."

"Still think it is, Barney."

And with that, Clint was off, with Barney following resignedly behind.


	2. Today, You Watch

_Rather quick update, no? But anyways- On with the show!_

* * *

A few hours later, the sun began to rise, illuminating a thin line of bright orange light at the bottom of the sky. Clint and Barney had been walking long enough that even Clint was lagging behind. Barney, being the older brother, wasted no time in teasing him mercilessly. Clint easily ignored him. But they kept walking- not stopping even for a second, because they both knew if they stopped, they wouldn't start again. It wasn't all that much longer until they spotted bright red flags peaking over the trees.

Even though they were tired, cold and hungry, when they saw their first glimpse of the circus, they couldn't help but speed up towards the bright-red striped tents like proper children. By the time they were within ear-shot of the elephant's trumpeting yells, they were practically gigging.

Still very cheery with the aspect of joining the circus, leaving behind the orphanage and the mean (who was perhaps not as evil as the children saw her,) Headmistress, they started to walk around the tents. For what, they weren't sure, but could only stand in awe of the large tents and cages holding all sorts of animals. Barney was laughing at a tiger who's name plate read 'Barney' when gruff hands grabbed both of them by the collar of their shirts. They automatically turned their heads to face the man.

"I think, you do not belong here?" He spoke with a Russian accent, though diluted with years of speaking English. Clint was still trying to wiggle out, while Barney had accepted the fact they were caught and remained still.

"Not yet- we were kind of hoping to join.." Barney offered. A contemplating look passed over the man's face. He looked back and forth between the brothers before asking, "How old are you?"

"Eighteen, as of last week. Barney's nineteen, though." Clint answered immediately. Barney shot him a glare, which Clint just grinned too.

The man looked as if he knew they were lying, but also as if he didn't care. Apparently this circus didn't really care about who they picked up, as long as they'd work.

"What can you do?" The gruff, loud, accented voice asked again.

"Anything! We can clean up or set up or..." Clint rambled. The hands tightened.

"We have enough helpers, boy, what can you _do?_" It was then clear to Clint what he meant. What can they do to add to the show? He searched his mind for anything he could do. He couldn't do acrobatics, he was rather scared of animals, and their wasn't any way he was going in front of an audience in a red nose and a painted face.

"I can shoot!" Clint blurted out. It was true, he could shoot. He'd learned this when he'd found an old sling shot when he was 11 in the bottom of the toy bin and begged for dried peas from the (rather soft) cook in the kitchen. He hadn't missed a target since then, much to the dismay of the other kids at the orphanage.

"I'm..good with animals." Barney offered as well, which, as far as Clint knew, was true.

The hands released and Barney fell to the ground, Clint having caught himself. The man's grey eyes watched them for a second, before saying,

"Today? You watch. Tomorrow? You work." and walking past them, most likely to inform the ring master or owner of the circus of the two new boys.

"Why'd you lie like that? 'Bout our age?" Barney asked once the man was a safe distance.

"It's illegal for under-eighteen's to work for the circus." Clint answered. "I had to lie so that we could." Barney scowled.

"You sure this is a good idea?" He asked.

"Pretty sure, yeah."

* * *

_"Today? You watch. Tomorrow? You work."_

And watch they did. During the day they'd walked around, met some of the show people and Barney got to meet the tiger, Barney. Clint had met the main archer, Trick Shot, who was rather gruff but willing to teach Clint. (Starting tomorrow, he'd said, because today you watch, tomorrow you work.)

When it was finally almost Showtime and they were offered front row seats- Clint and Barney were abuzz with the allure of the circus. The lights in the tent were just dim enough to cast a light yellow glow over everything, but kept the main stage darkened.

Then, the stage lit up with different colors and the lights over the audience dimmed. Clint nudged Barney in excitement and Barney nudged him back.

The Ring Leader stepped out and introduced the first act- the clowns. Clint had never been to the circus before, and even after he'd seen how much effort it took to set it up, after he'd been behind the scenes, it was completely magical.

He was laughing at everything- if it was funny, or even mildly so, because the excitement made everything hilarious. He was slightly nervous when the large animals came out, but seeing how in awe Barney was, he couldn't help but grin.

Then Trick Shot came out, and Clint swore that he'd winked towards him. He waved slightly back, though he was fairly sure that he couldn't see him. Trick Shot went through his routine, shooting moving targets and some with a blindfold. Clint couldn't help but think,_ I can do that!_ at every shot, even the more difficult ones.

After Trick Shot came a strong man- but he didn't look like a strong man. He was small, thin, and seemed to just disappear from sight entirely. He had short curly hair and glasses, wearing black pants and shirt with a green stripe down the side.

He was amazingly unremarkable, so the audience whispered their doubts and confusion to each other, and Barney shot a confused glance at Clint, who merely shrugged. Quiet build-up music began playing, and the young man (who, now that Clint was really looking at him, didn't look more then sixteen.) began picking up the weights.

He started fairly low, 50 pounds, and then worked his way up the weights, anticipation and amazement building, until, with a gasp of disbelief from the entire audience, he picked up an entire ton. He bowed nervously and exited the stage faster then Clint thought possible.

"Dude.." Clint whispered to his brother in amazement. "We've got to meet this kid."

After the strong-man left the stage, the energy died down from the original excitement, and the lights dimmed once again. The Ring Leader, in an annoying stage whisper, introduced "The amazing acrobat- The woman who treats gravity like her own plaything- Natasha Romanova!"

A slim girl with bright red hair bobbing at her cheeks stepped in to the main ring. She was wearing less make-up then the other showgirls, just red lipstick on her plump lips that mirrored her fire hair. She was wearing a tight shimmery white dress that was cut a few inches above her knees, and small clear gems were glued to her hands in a small pattern.

She was _breathtaking_.

Merely smiling a very fake grin, she began walking up the latter to the trapeze bars. Clint was entranced by her grace, the way she climbed the latter elegantly and nearly swung up to stand on the small platform. With another grin to the audience, she grabbed the trapeze and swung off.

A few basic swings back and forth before she swung her legs over the bars, swinging upside down, arms and hands dropped gracefully underneath her. Then, with one fluent swing, she had placed herself with her back on the bar, arms and legs tangled expertly in the strings that held it.

Slowly, carefully, she unwrapped her limbs from the strings, and balanced herself on the bar, legs and arms held elegantly out, so the only part of her touching the swing was the small of her back. Holding that way for a few seconds, she used her arms to swing herself around, legs grasping the bar just in time for her not to fall. She did a few more swings this way, a few more tricks, before hopping of the trapeze and on to the platform.

She smiled as the audience, still breathless, clapped for her.

"No," Barney whispered to Clint, "We've got to meet _her_."

* * *

_Who here can guess who the strong man was? Shouldn't be too hard. Reviews are nice, thank you for reading!_


	3. Bows and Arrows

_A/N What an amazing response you guys! Y'all are...fantastic!_

* * *

As it turns out, the nicer trains up front, the ones with beds and and pillows, were for the performers. New people like Clint and Barney get cars- with two blankets and some straw. Which Clint didn't mind so much, though he did get a hell of a glare from Barney as the owner of the circus, the man who'd found them originally, had led them too it.

The only thing that really kept Clint from sleeping, besides the cold, was the excitement. Of joining the circus and trying a bow and arrow and meeting that strong man and the acrobat (who, they'd noticed, disappeared right after the show had ended.) Somehow, though, he'd managed to sleep for a few hours before a loud banging on the car door woke them up.

When Clint had opened the door _("Why can't you get it Barney for God's sake you're the older brother!") _he found Trick Shot, bow already in hand, looking down at him. Trick Shot wasn't the nicest looking man, but he didn't look cruel, either.

"Today-" Trick Shot began, but Clint waved a hand and interrupted him.

"Let me guess- Today, we work?" He finished.

Trick Shot smiled.

Clint followed him behind the tents to the small shooting range, where a few targets had been set up. Trick Shot turned to him, pointed to the closest target, and handed him a bow and arrow. Clint accepted them, but looked down at them strangely.

"I- Shouldn't you like, show me how first?" He asked, turning the bow around in his hands.

"Shoot. We'll see how you do." Clint picked up the bow awkwardly, first holding it with the strings out. Trick Shot raised an eyebrow, and Clint blushed ever-so-slightly and turned it so the strings were facing him.

Holding it in is left arm, he strung a arrow on it carefully, steadying it with his fingers on his right hand. He held his left arm out, straight and steady, and pulled his right back, hand resting on his cheek bone. Aiming it carefully, he took a deep breath, let go, and pulled his right arm back quickly.

The arrow whizzed, hitting the bulls-eye right on the spot. Clint grinned, looking at Trick Shot. He smiled a little, and pointed to the next target.

Careful not to repeat his first mistake, he strung an arrow again and pulled it back, this time taking a second to admire how fluent the motion was- how right the bow felt in his hand, the arrow resting between his fingers. With another deep breath, he let go, once again hitting the bulls-eye.

This time he didn't even look at Trick shot, merely grabbed another arrow and moved to the next one, which was sitting much farther then the first two.

He strung it, pulled it back and shot the arrow. The arrow hit the target exactly in the center, as had the first two. Trick Shot looked once at all three targets, arrows embedded in them, and removed them, putting the targets back at least 20 feet each. He walked by Clint, handed him the arrows, and said, "Good. Again."

Clint strung the arrow, hitting the first two squarely on the bulls-eye. When he came to the third, though, he aimed, shot, and hit the blue circle. Disappointed in himself, he clenched his fists. Looking down at the ground, he muttered furiously to himself. _One chance, Clint. If you're out of the circus you're out a place to stay._ He thought, hands clenching harder as Trick Shot walked past him.

Trick Shot returned with arrow in hand. His other hand went to Clint's chin, who immediately flinched on contact. Clint blushed again and rose his head. Trick shot rose the arrow and sighed.

"A missed shot in practice will cost you a meal, Barton. A missed shot in show will have you mucking out stalls for a week. Understand?"

Clint nodded promptly.

"Good. You did well, Clint. Keep practicing." He said, half smiling. He then walked off.

* * *

Clint continued to practice all day, until the muscles in his arms ached and his finger tips were stinging from pulling and releasing the string, up until the owner of the circus, (who's name, he'd learned, was Tiboldt) came and said it was time to pack up, that they were on their way to the next location.

It was about evening when this happened, so Clint started to walk to his trailer. On his way there, he noticed a kid. A certain black-curly-haired-with glasses, kid.

"Hey! You! You're that guy!" He yelled, walking towards him. The boy pointed to himself with a questioning look on his face, so Clint nodded as he walked closer.

"You were fantastic! I mean you're such a tiny little guy- no offense, so you really don't look all that special- again, no offense- and then _WHAM!_ You're like, a bazzilion times stronger then everyone else." Clint rambled, now standing in front of the boy. He put his arm out for the boy to shake, who, in return, timidly shook it.

"I- Uh, thanks? I think?" He asked, half a smile showing on his face. "I'm Bruce, uh, if you wanted to know."

Clint grinned. "I'm Clint! 'Course I wanted to know. Yeah, so how do you do that, anyways?" He asked. Bruce clammed up a little, a small flash of..._something_ in his eyes.

"I..It was an accident." Everything about his stance, his eyes, his voice said _don't ask anything more_. So Clint didn't. He didn't know Bruce that well, anyway. Just met the kid.

Didn't stop him from being dead curious, though.

"Oh. Well, whatever it is, it's cool. Do you know where this circus is headed?" Clint asked. He hoped somewhere pretty far away, just to make sure they had enough road between there and the orphanage to not get caught.

Bruce just looked thankful for a change of subject, but answered. "Springfield, I think. In Illinois. Then we're off to who-knows-where! That's what I like about this. Always moving."

* * *

_Hey, don't judge Clint. Got it backwards the first time I shot one, too. Reviews are...fanastico!_


	4. Setting Up

A little short, sorry!

* * *

Springfield was only around six hours away, easily accomplished in one night while everyone was sleeping, or at least trying to with the rumbling of the train and the whistling and the bumping.

So, when they had arrived and everyone had gotten up to help set up, they were all yawning and tired. Clint was enlisted to help set up the tents, leaving Barney behind wandering around looking too see where he could be of use.

When he got there, he was unsurprised to see Bruce carrying a large load of stakes on his shoulder. Jogging to catch up with him, he shouted"Bruce!" Bruce jumped, turning around, his load of wooden stakes clattering noisily to the ground.

Clint had to take a step back when he saw Bruce's face, which was livid. His eyes had an almost greenish tinge to them, his shoulders shaking with deep breaths. In a few seconds, it had all but vanished, leaving Clint wondering if perhaps he'd just imagined it.

"Woah- You okay?" He asked, almost cautiously. Bruce blinked and smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry," He said, already bending down to pick up the stakes. He looked back at Clint with another sheepish smile. "Please don't sneak up on me like that, though."

Clint nodded. "Duly noted. You..uh..want help with those?" Which was a stupid question, as Bruce had long since finished gathering them and was now holding them comfortably on his shoulder.

"No, I-I'm good with these. Uh...they might need your help with the center pole. That's kind of a all-hands-on-deck type thing." Bruce nodded towards the empty field, where a dozen or so circus workers had gathered, and a large amount of red-and-white fabric sat on the ground.

"Oh, great! Ok. I'll go..help. With that." He smiled and ran off, after offering a quick wave goodbye, which Bruce returned.  
Clint walked over to where the men had gathered, and immediately wandered towards Trick Shot, which was more because he needed someone to show him what to do then that he liked him.

A few hours or so later, with all the people helping, the tents had been put up with no problems. Strangely enough, in the two days he'd been here, he'd not seen the red-haired acrobat, not even helping with setting up. When he saw Bruce on the way to the shooting area, he stopped him (though far less randomly) to ask.

"Natasha? Nah. She's not- that is, she's...I've only ever talked to her the once." Bruce stumbled a little over his words, like he was afraid of talking about her.

"Really? What'd she say to you?" Clint asked excitedly. Bruce laughed softly and grinned lopsidedly.

"Not to speak to her again or she'd break my neck." Bruce smiled.

"Prickly, isn't she?" He paused. "I definitely need to meet her."

* * *

He'd finally made his way to the shooting range, only to be greeted by Barney, who was shooting a bow and arrow. And somehow- the picture felt wrong. Like he wanted to go up and snatch the bow from his brother, because it was his, because Barney shouldn't have a weapon. Barney is the smart-don't-kill-anyone-or-hurt-anything mild one. Clint is the kill-everything-that-crosses-him-rash-one. And that's how it worked, how it always worked. Barney would lie down and take whatever it was, and Clint would act up and make it worse, leaving Barney to fix it.

It annoyed him. It was wrong.

So he was irrationally relived when Barney grinned at him, handing him the bow and arrow.

"Just fooling around. The animals needed rest, so there's nothing for me to do. Thought I might try. Didn't do too bad, either." And he hadn't, every arrow was at least some what close the bull's eye, and one exactly in the center of it.

Clint took the arrow harshly from his brother's hands, grumbling out a "No, you didn't." Before heading over to the target himself. He pulled back the string, once again admiring how nice it felt to do so. Taking a deep, calming breath, he sent the arrow flying, hitting the arrow in the center and splitting it in half.

His brother raised an eyebrow in a questioning look.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked, frowning.

"Nothing."

Barney scoffed.

"Nothing. Go play with the tigers or something." Clint said, somehow still a little annoyed. He walked up and tore the arrows from the target,pushing it back a few more feet.

"They're sleeping, remember?" Barney asked, but he could tell when he should leave Clint alone. It used to happen a lot- Clint would get angry at something, someone, and go hide on the roof, shooting his slingshot at the targets he had made on some of the taller trees, and Barney would know to leave him there. So with a wave, he wondered off again, slightly jealous of the way Clint had easily split his arrow. He'd been proud of that one.

* * *

Clint shot for another hour or so, each one hitting the center with more force then the last. A few moments after he'd again recollected his arrows, something red flashed behind a near tree. Thinking it a bird or a squirrel or something, Clint strung his next arrow and shot it. As the arrow whizzed through the air, a person- a woman, stepped in front of it, doing some sort of cart-wheel just in time to not get pierced in the side.

"Hey!" Clint yelled, decidedly startled. "You wanna get yourself killed or something?"

But the woman had already ran out of sight.

Clint was confused, so he wandered through the small wooded area, looking for whoever it had been. Walking around a tree, a thought occurred to him.

Purely acting on whim, he called out, in a somewhat shaky voice, "Natasha?"

* * *

Reviews would be fantastic!


	5. An Act

It was not Natasha. Or, at least, he could not find her or anyone, in the thick forest. Clint was a little ticked off. At Natasha, or whoever it was who'd danced across the shooting range then disappeared in to the day, and at himself, because he had been irrationally cross with Barney.

And he'd missed the tenth bulls-eye.

So he stormed his way to the train car, hoping to find Barney and apologize.

A few moments later he'd reached his destination, sliding open the door with a small amount of effort. Barney was sitting in the corner, sketching or writing something. He looked up from whatever it was he was doing.

"Oh, hey, Robin Hood." He greeted, and Clint was surprised that he didn't sound angry.

"Hey." Clint coughed a little. "Sorry." Cough. "For uhm...yeah. You didn't do to badly. I mean, first time I held the bow, I got it backwards, so it's all up from there." Barney laughed.

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to split it. I mean _really_." He grumbled something about show-offs, which Clint supposed he really did deserve, before tactfully changing the subject. "So, what've you been up to?"

Clint paused. "Shooting. Met that strong-man kid." Barney perked up at that.

"Really? What's he like?"

"Uh...He's..quiet. Really quiet. And shy. But he's nice enough. And if you really talk to him he's kinda funny." Clint said, then moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, for lack of a chair.

"What's his name?" Barney asked, still not looking up from whatever he was doing on the paper.

"Bruce. What're you doing, anyway?" He tried to snatch the paper out his brother's hands.

"None of your business." He mumbled, still holding it out of reach. Clint started to stand up to get it, but Barney just stood up faster.

"Still taller then you, little bro." Barney laughed, only holding it up higher when Clint jumped for it. Feeling rather like a small child, and really foolish, he stepped back and crossed his arms, which did not help his image in the least.

"Fine. Didn't really want to see it anyway." Clint grumbled, and for a fleeting moment, considered sticking his tongue out, too.

"Are you three?" Barney laughed. Clint just pouted.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I still don't care."

"Of course you don't."

"Nope."

"Why don't we go and wait until dinner?" Barney asked, not seeing this conversation going anywhere useful.

"Still don't care."

"That's not even what I said!" He exclaimed, exasperated.

"Oh." Clint paused. "Yeah, let's go wait until food."

Food was average. Chili. Cornbread. The only remarkable thing, according to Clint, was again, a lack of Natasha Romanoff, Romanova, whatever it was.

He never saw her. It was aggravating how well she managed to seamlessly get from performances to her car or wherever she slept. How she must've got someone to get her food for her- or maybe she starved.

Either way, as he lied on the car floor that night, he swore to himself he'd find her tomorrow.

* * *

He'd been practicing. Or, rather, shooting away his frustrations. At his fifth shot, as he pulled it back, he noticed another flash of red. This time, he still shot, but payed close attention as he let the string go with a flourish.

The flash of red again turned out to be the woman, who did a flip over the arrow. She ran back in to the forest, but Clint had a plan. He ignored her. He strung up another shot, hoping she would again dance in front of it.

She didn't disappoint.

The next time, he strung three arrows on to the bow, which he'd never done before, but he'd seen Trick Shot do it a few times.

It did, and the three arrows shot, a little will-nilly, towards the targets. The woman cart-wheeled over all three, landing on her feet with a graceful bounce. Only, this time she stayed. Clint looked at her, taking in how she seemed to be much more lovely in the sunlight, rays of light dancing of her hair, illuminating her skin to something a little less pale.

He noticed, when his grey eyes traveled to her green ones, that they weren't looking at him at all. Rather, behind him. He turned around to be slightly startled by a large man looming over him. Tiboldt. A rather unpleasant looking man, with a thick curly mustache and a heavyset eyes.

He clapped once and looked straight at Natasha, beginning to speak in rapid Russian. Natasha nodded her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. She said something, and Clint couldn't help but notice that her voice was so beautiful when it spoke Russian. Clint couldn't understand a word of it, but Natasha most certainly could. It rolled of her tongue like she had invented the language. Clint wouldn't have doubted her if she said she had.

She nodded towards Clint, who shook himself out of whatever he was in, and snapped his eyes back to Tiboldt.

"What I mean to say is, this will make a great act!" Tibldt smiled, looking at Natasha and Clint with a small amount of pride in his eyes. Clint shook his head quickly.

"Act?" He asked.

"But of course! Natasha will, of course, have to teach you the tightrope first." He announced, nodding his head her way. Natasha looked faintly disgusted.

"Bu- act?" He exclaimed. "I've only just learned to shoot!"

"That's an insult. I can avoid anything you miss, I promise, Robin Hood." It took Clint a moment to realize that it was Natasha who had been speaking, because the voice had been so accent-less, that he hadn't thought she could have spoken it. Yet, she spoke English like she had invented it, too. Like she'd been born and raised in America and had never stepped a foot out of it.

"I-what?" He said, turning towards her.

"I said, I'll dodge anything you shoot at me." And sure, it sounded a bit prideful, and Clint could even realize that.

"I- ok, not doubting that or anything, you're obviously very agile, but I don't know if I want too." He tried, trying to ignore the dark look that Natasha shot his way. And, in fact, the one Tibldt sent him as well.

"Well, I do not think I was giving you a choice. Natasha, teach him. Barton...learn."

* * *

Natasha didn't start teach him immediately, as Clint thought she would. As a matter of fact, she ran off without a word, just a sharp look and a pointed frown.

A few moments of shocked stillness later, Trick Shot arrived, claiming it was time for his practice. Clint dazedly handed him the bow- the circus's only bow- and stared briefly at the targets before flicking his eyes up to Trick Shot.

"I've got an act." He said, pausing a moment while Trick Shot's eyes widened in surprise. "Well- Natasha's got an act. She just needs me?" Something flickered in Trick Shot's eyes before he let out a decidedly fake sounding laugh.

"Romanova does have a talent of getting what she wants. But, good job regardless." Trick Shot said, walking towards the targets, removing the arrows Clint had shot in to them. Striding back towards the much-less-glazed Clint, he smiled.

"You should be proud of yourself. It took me entire year to get where you are." He says.

"You didn't have Natasha to demand it." Clint reasoned, shrugging. "When did you come to the circus, anyways?"

"'Round the same age as you." He replied, and Clint wondered briefly whether he meant eighteen or his actual age. "Orphaned. Ran away. The usual." Clint smiled, briefly considering apologizing, before deciding Trick Shot looked nice enough to only reply "Same here." with a bit of a scoff.

Trick Shot smiled in return, setting down the bow and the arrows a moment. "You'll find most everyone here is. Orphans...or those who are better off so. Everyone was a run away at one point."

"What about Natasha?" He asked. Tick Shot laughed again.

"I don't think anyone here knows anything more about her then what you do, Clint."

* * *

_That awkward moment when you post something you really aren't proud of (aafasdga) and still ask for a few reviews. Concrit. What have you. _


	6. First Lessons

Clint watches Trick Shot for only a few more moments- he doesn't find it as entertaining as actually shooting. Bored, he walked around the circus helping out a little where he could. Picking up things here, setting up a few signs there. It wasn't long before he reached the main tent, where he could see through the small opening in the front that the acrobats were practicing. Hopeful to see Natasha, and maybe learn some himself, he pulled the tent open and walked in.

He is momentarily amazed at the agility of some of the acrobats, swinging and flipping in the air like they belonged there. Walking around the seats, he goes in to the rings and stares up at the trapeze and tight-rope, but not spotting the red hair he was looking for.

Instead, he witnesses one of the more fantastic flips he's seen. A young boy, perhaps around his age, flips in the air and jumps to the other trapeze, which is sitting unbelievably far away. Another jump lands him on the platform, after which he grabs on to the pole supporting it and does a few spins around it before sliding down like a fire-pole.

Clint grins at the boy and claps once. "That was cool."

The boy grins back and rubs his hands- Clint notices they lack the white powder the others use to keep their grip.

"Thanks." He says, momentarily cocking his head. "Uh..I'm Peter?" He says it like he's not entirely sure if it's his name, or maybe he just doesn't know if he's supposed to offer it or not.

Clint smiles and holds out his hand for Peter to shake, and while he does, offers his name too. "I'm Clint. How'd you learn all this?" Peter purses his lips a little before he answers.

"I..uhm..my dad?" He offers kind of weakly, but Clint accepts it. "Oh. Well that's cool." Clint says, instead asking all the questions he wants to. He's rather proud of himself for being so tactful. Peter nods before taking a few steps backwards.

"Well, I'm just going to...do..something." He points off vaguely to the side of the tent, spinning on his heel and starting to walk off.

"Wait!" Clint calls, jogging up a few steps. Peter turns around quickly. "Yeah?"

"I was just..I'm supposed to learn to do that kind of stuff." He says, a sort of grimace on his face. Peter raises an eyebrow, half smiling.

"Sorry, I really can't." He answers before laughing a little. "I couldn't teach you if I wanted too- I just kind of..know this stuff." He shrugs apologetically.

"Oh. Well. That's okay." Clint replies, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Actually, Romanova's meant to teach me. I just don't know where she is."

"Romanova? How'd you swing that?" Peter asks. "From what I've heard she's not very...social."

"I didn't swing anything, she did." He answers, and seeing Peter's confused look, elaborates. "She needs my shooting skills for her act, but I need to learn how to walk the tightrope first."

Peter nods in understanding. "I get it- she's doing it because she _needs_ too."

Clint laughs.

"Yeah, pretty much." He looks around the tent a moment before talking again. "So, when did you join? I didn't see you in the show."

"Oh, I'm not in it, yet. I only joined a state back so." Peter says, and, all new found tact having left him, Clint asks how he got here.

Peter gets this sad-puppy look that makes Clint feel really awful for asking, so he quickly amends. "Uh, well, you don't have to answer that." He says. Peter scratches his head and smiles a little.

"No, it's okay. My parents...died, so here I am." And even though there's a strange pause before 'died', Clint's not going to pry this time.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Is all he says before Peter's name has been called from the other side of the tent. Peter gives a smile. "I guess I've got to go." He turns around, and, before he leaves, he turns his head back to see Clint as best he can. "If you ever see someone with a blue star tattoo on his left wrist, please tell me."

Clint's confused at this, but just nods as Peter grins at him and runs off. He wonders if that's something Peter says to everyone- or if there's something about himself that says he might know.

With Peter gone, Clint feels a little lost in the big tent. He looks around for something to do, someone he knows. There isn't anyone. Just a few random acrobats, all wearing the same bright purple leotards he's seen in the show.

So, he does what's natural to him. He climbs up the ladder to the highest platform were no one's practicing, swings his legs and stares down at everyone.

He's always felt safe up high. To stare down at people at a safe distance, untouchable. It gives him a sense of safety, of power, of protection. Always had.

It's also a really good place to think.

So he thinks firstly about Peter. Taking ever sentence he said, his personality, the way he interacts, and dissecting it. Figuring out if he's worth the effort of trying to be friends with- if he's trustworthy. A moment later, he decides he is, even if he seems a little secretive.

And then, Bruce. Who's a little bit harder, even though he's had more time to get to know him. Bruce seems..off. Much more secretive, less trustworthy. Looks like he's a bit of a loose canon, judging from his small appearance but big strength.

And yet, he also looks like he doesn't know it. Like he doesn't know he's this strong, and just pretends he's not. Or, at least, tries too.

He thinks he can trust him, after a while. Bu also that'll he be a bit careful around him, try not to startle or anger him.

Everyone's already left by the time he's reached this decision. He wonders if he ought to leave too, but then, it's so nice and quite here. And he's alone, so he figures he deserves it and just sits up there with his eyes closed, totally zoned out, trusting himself enough to not fall over the edge.

So when there's a rush of air on face it's a second before he realizes he's falling. He almost screams before someone's hand closes quickly on his arm and swings him upwards. He makes a sort of strangled gasp before he's let go of again, falling towards the ground.

He sees another trapeze at a lower height, so, acting on instinct, he stretches his arm out and grabs it, momentum making him swing towards the lower platform. He jumps off and lands on his hands and knees, taking in quick breaths, not really feeling them reach his lungs.

A few more quick gaps later and he looks up to see the tell-tale red hair of Natasha Romanova swinging in the air.

He has barley regained his breath right before Natasha swings down to his platform and stands in front of him.

"What...the...hell..?" He asks between gasps. A smile flashes on Natasha's face, not disappearing as she puts her hands on her hips.

"Teaching." She answers, holding out her hand to him. "Natasha Romanova. You may call me Miss or Romanova." Clint, still confused, shakes it.

"I'm-" He begins, but Natasha cuts him off curtly.

"I know who you are." She says, the smile replaced by a tight-lipped stern look. Clint isn't even sure what to think as she turns around and faces the tight rope. "Alright, I've been sent to teach, so you're going to learn."

"Not like that." Clint answers. Natasha's head whips around quicker that Clint thought possible. "I'm not going to learn anything like that."

Natasha cocks her head before answering. "Unfortunately," she says, as though it's really not unfortunate at all, "That's the only way I'll teach."

* * *

_I wanted a Peter Parker so here have a Peter Parker. There's a question in that, though, how do y'all feel about him? I can make him a main, not, or you might only see him this once. Send your thoughts in a review. Xx._


	7. Acrobats and Apples

Looking back, Clint's not exactly sure why he was now in the middle of a tight rope, blind folded. He can, however, pin it entirely on one person. Natasha.

After stripping away the mystery of never having met her, the alluring way she flipped between languages, and to be perfectly frank, her stunning beauty, Clint was left with a rather unsavory person. She was detached, which he can understand a little, cold, which he can excuse, but really strikes him is her seeming lack of personality. He couldn't, after practicing with her for two hours, (which really only turned out to being thrown off of great heights with the expectation on her part that he'd not plunge to his death) tell you what she was like. There isn't a word he can think of, flattering or not, that suits her.

Her mystery certainly preceded her.

The dead curiosity and determination to find out about her is what kept him making one-sided conversations with Natasha, kept asking her questions he was fairly sure she wouldn't yet answer.

Some of which included, "Why is your hair red?" and "Where were you born?" but perhaps most childish of all, "Why do you hate me?"

The last of which prompted an answer.

"That," Natasha said, and although Clint couldn't see her, he could almost her the smirk in her voice, "Is a question better asked when you haven't annoyed me to the point of shoving you off the wire."

Clint actually laughs, causing him to loose his balance. The blind fold which blocks his most cherished sense makes it difficult to right himself, so he is almost grateful when Natasha grabs his arm as he's falling. He expects her to fall too, his weight pulling her and himself down to the dirt ground, but as he braces himself to hit it, he is swung back up and then thrown on to a platform.

Catching his breath and trying to clam himself, he hastily unties the black fabric just in time to watch Natasha swing back towards him and expertly jump off and land next to him, graceful as always.

"Shoving me would have been more effective." He says grumpily as she helps him to his feet. She keeps a dead face as she answers.

"I wouldn't have purposely." Clint is almost shocked. She sound like she's apologizing. But another glance at her eyes gives him the idea she's more defending herself then anything.

"To be honest," he says, furrowing his eyebrows, "I don't know what you'd do." He really doesn't. Her mystery is as much terrifying in this moment as it is normally alluring.

Her eyebrow crinkles in to an expression he can't read. To her credit, she continues her defense.

"And I don't know what you would do." In her obvious annoyance, a small trace of her accent, almost unnoticeable, slips in. Enough, though, to make Clint all the more curious.

"Why are you so emotionless?" The question is almost as tactful as his earlier inquisition to Peter, but he does nothing to amend it. He only stares at Natasha with a poker face that rivals her own, until she purses her lips and lays a slender hand to her hip.

"Is that really a good question to ask?" So far she's only answered his questions with questions or remarks, where as Clint has at least tried to come off on the right foot. He opens his mouth to reply, but Natasha cuts him off, taking her hand off her hip and laying it elegantly at her side, fingers drumming a rhythm as she speaks. "Taking back whether it's a good question or not, it's still not one I will openly answer." Her voice is cold, calculated. Enough to lay down facts with out emotion or anger, not prompting any sort of answer or defense from Clint.

"When it's all done and finished, you're the one firing arrows at me during a show. You're the one with the weapon. If there's any trusting to be done, it's me to you and not the other way around." She finishes with a sigh, fingers stopping their drumming.

Clint pauses a moment before sitting down cross-legged on the platform and grinning up at her.

"Well, you can ask me anything. I'll answer." He doesn't add the sarcastic 'Unlike some people' that he wants to, deciding it's not the most friendly or trustworthy thing to say.

Natasha keeps her face straight as she answers a curt, "I don't want to."

Clint shrugs as if to say it's her loss, but still tries. "Not even answer for an answer?" And in retrospect it sounds annoying, even to Clint.

"I can have you on the ground, begging for mercy, in two seconds flat. Or anywhere for that matter." She says. Clint honestly would believe her if only for her reputation. But he's never been one for self-preservation.

"Well, to quote you 'It's me to you and not the other way around.' and I am the one with the weapon."

Her eyes narrow as if he's just challenged her. Maybe he has.

"I know you ran away from something, somewhere, and that you treasure this circus like you would a home." Her left eyebrow raises a little bit and her hands are one again on her hips. "And, I personally know Tibldt treasures me quite dearly as an addition to his show, almost as much as you treasure this circus." Her prim, curt voice continues with a slight edge, "So I don't need to trust you, I already know you."

Natasha swings away after that, leaving Clint confused and the slightest bit offended. He feels almost violated by how much he knew of him and how little he did of her. A wave of exhaustion crashes in to him before another coherent thought forms. He'd been too distracted to notice this tiredness earlier, but now it hits him full force. As he climbs lazily down the latter he wonders how late he's been kept. Certainly it's past dinner, which he didn't give a second thought too.

He'd missed the target again today.

He walks through the open tent door towards his train car. One he's there he slides open the door, electing to ignore the fact he's woken Barney up and he's now muttering at him for doing so.

Right now, the cold hard car floor has never sounded so comfortable.

* * *

He wakes up the next morning a little later then usual, and all his muscles are screaming in protest as he slowly stands up. The acrobatics that he isn't used to and the solid arm exercise from the bow every day for the week he's been here have taken their toll on his body.

He gets up anyways, pushing himself to wash his face with the small jug of water they were given and change in to the only other pair of clothes he'd brought.

He heads down to breakfast, a small fire on which pots of oatmeal are cooking and logs are set around, and nods greeting to Bruce and Peter before grabbing an apple and sitting next to them.

"Morning." He mumbles before he takes a bite of the apple, savoriness the crispness and the crunch.

"Good Morning." Peter greets through a fairly full mouth of oatmeal.

"Hmm." Was Bruce's greeting, who seemed a bit zoned out.

"Good sleep?" Clint asks, which is a fairly odd question to feel rolling off of his tongue. Usually, it was his mother who asked him that, as she made them fresh eggs and orange juice and sometimes bacon when they had it. The question which he hadn't heard in years stung more then he would have liked it too, so he listens to Peter's "Yeah, you?" with less attention.

"Ok." He doesn't mention his midnight acrobatics lesson with Natasha. "Bruce?" He asked, which elected another "Hmm." from him. If Clint were less tired and more interested in conversation he would have prompted for something more.

But as it is, he isn't, so he drifts his eyes to the fire and the basket of apples. He gets a sudden idea, and bids a quick mumble of 'Goodbye' to them before grabbing another apple and slipping it down his sleeve, running off to the where the shooting range was set up.

Not bothering with the targets, he gets some loose rope and ties the stem of the apple, using the other end to tie it to a tree. Grabbing the bow and stringing a arrow on it with ease, he focuses on the apple. A deep breath, then the arrow is zooming towards the apple, piercing it in the middle.

He wonders if it's wrong that he almost likes the splattering sound it makes as it splits in to a dozen different pieces.

* * *

_A/N, so, there you go. I feel like this is going a bit downhill quality wise. If, by any chance, you can explain why, please tell me in a review and I will work to make it not like that. Xx_


	8. Circus Life

-  
A dozen apples later and Clint put down the bow. Partly because they would notice an entire basket of apples disappearing in one day, and because they would probably notice the said (now destroyed) apples laying near the shooting range.  
Besides, he could probably find something else to do. Maybe practice the tightrope so he didn't look so unbalanced next time Natasha saw it fit to 'teach' him.  
On his way to the main tent, however, he spotted Barney leaning on a tree and writing something on a piece of paper. Seeing Barney was surprise enough in and of itself, considering he had a talent for disappearing during the day only to return at night to feed the animals and sleep. Curious, he walked over to him, wondering if it was the same paper from the other night.

"Hey, what're you writing?" He asked casually, walking behind Barney so he could get a better look. Barney shielded the paper before he could see much, but it looked a bit like a questionnaire.  
"What are you doing?" He asked again, as Barney stood up and folded the paper.  
"Nothing." Barney said, but he looked like he knew that he wasn't fooling anyone anymore if he ever was.

"C'mon. Just tell me. Or I'll just find out anyways. You know I always do." Which was, regrettably, true. Any crush or secret Barney ever dared to have in the orphanage was always spotted by Clint's keen eye, and ultimately ruined by him, whether it be by embarrassing him or by shaking him out of it. The latter happened more then Barney would admit.

"Fine," Barney sighed, retrieving the paper from his pocket and unfolding it. "It's a GED practice sheet. So I can graduate High School." Clint looked at the paper and his face flashed with confusion.

"Why would you want to do that?" He asked, almost innocently, but almost looking disgusted as well, the idea having confused and repulsed him. Barney blew a long breath out of his mouth, shifting his weight a little as he tried to figure out what to say.

"Listen, Clint, this isn't..life." Clint raised an appraising eyebrow, clearly not understanding what Barney meant. "Running away to the circus? Yeah, it's cool, for awhile. But it's not a life. It's not a job. It's not something you can start a family with or get a house or anything."

Clint frowned. "So? It works. We get food and shelter a-"

"A train car is not exactly what I'd call shelter." Barney interjected.

"Ok, so, not the best shelter, but..point stands, it's a life!" Clint defended. It was life enough for him. He doesn't really want to get married- and he's pretty sure he'd be awful with children.

"A life, then. One not anywhere near what I want. " Barney argued. It wasn't really that he wanted a wife and kids, it was the chance to have them. The option. The choice of it.

"But it's what I want. I like it here!" Clint said. Barney didn't skip a beat before answering.

"No one said you had to come with me."

Clint almost visibly flinched at this. They'd always been together, almost inseparable. A product, you could say, of their father and the inclination to protect each other, the safety of having the other by their side.  
Barney sighed. Clint just looked angry with him now. Clint made some movement of his hands, like he'd been about to stretch his arms out, before he huffed a bit and clenched his teeth. In a split moment, his demeanor changed, and he looked at Barney with an accusing, offended look that almost made Barney want to stay.

"So you're leaving, then? The circus?" Clint paused a moment, clenching his fist and unclenching it. And then, "Me?" spoken angrily, an acquisition. He felt a little bad as guilt flashed on Barney's face, but said nothing to amend it. If guilting him is the only way to get him to stay, then, so be it.

"Clint," Barney sighed, rubbing his eyes in a long, dramatic motion. "I want a normal life, right? 'Cause we've never had one. And I kinda realized, this year, that I could have one if I wanted. That I don't need to stay with you to protect you at home, or to make sure you don't kill anyone at the orphanage, or..."

"Right. Well. Nice to know that." Clint said, voice angry and just the tiniest bit hurt. "I'll..you..thanks for sticking with me because of obligation, then."

Barney began to apologize, realizing that it wasn't exactly phrased in the most complimentary way, or even in a acceptable way at all, but Clint had already stormed off.

* * *

Clint's first idea was to go to the shooting range, but then realized that Trick Shot would probably be shooting there. He had, however briefly, favoured the thought of going to range just to talk to Trick Shot, but decided against it halfway there, leaving him sort of lost and out of place in the middle of the campground.

He clenched and unclenched his fists, more frustrated then angry. Frustrated with himself, perhaps, for being angry at Barney at all. Frustrated with the way his hands wouldn't stop clenching and the way his mind was whirling a million miles a minute and he just wanted it to stop.  
He needed to focus. He needed to shoot. But he couldn't shoot, as Trick Shot was practicing and the circus only had one bow. So he chose the only thing he could think of; he walked to the main circus tent to practice acrobatics.

The tent was not completely empty, but there wasn't quite the crowd of people there was the last time he came by himself. A few people were swinging on the trapeze, but Clint noted that the tight-rope was empty, so he started climbing up the ladder towards it. Holding out his arms to help balance himself, he took a deep breath before stepping out on to the wire. He wobbled a bit, with out the safety of someone behind him. He took the first step forward, letting out a breath when he didn't fall. So he took another, this one a little quicker, until finally he was fairly comfortably walking across the wire.

When he reached the other side, he grinned, rolled his shoulders and stepped back out on it.  
His second attempt was much quicker, as was his third and fourth, until he could walk across the tight rope with a fair amount of ease.  
He was his seventh successful endeavour across the rope when the bell rung for dinner, and, being hungry and not having missed an shot in a week, he headed out of the tent to the cart. When he reached the fire where dinner would be served, he slipped through the line for food and stood near to Bruce, he smiled a little when he approached.  
A few awkward moments and steps in line ahead, Bruce coughed. "Y'know, I really should tell you to get to the back of the line, Clint." Clint grinned.

"Why ever so?" He said, walking forward in the line with Bruce. "You were just unknowingly holding my place." Bruce laughed a little.

"Can you be unknowingly holding my place, too?" Peter asked, having appeared out of what felt like nowhere. Bruce jumped a bit, but smiled again. He sighed.

"Fine. Just this once, though." Bruce said. A little waiting later and they all had their dinner, and were sitting on the ground enjoying the chili and cornbread.

"So, Clint, how'd the acrobatics go? Romanova ever get around to teaching you?" Bruce asked, and it took Clint a moment to try to remember if he'd told Bruce or not. "Peter told me." Bruce said, having had noticed the look on Clint's face. Clint nodded his head with a silent 'Oh.' on his lips.

"Uhm..Yeah, she did. It..mostly involved throwing me off things in the hopes I wouldn't die." He answered, taking another bite of his chili. Peter laughed.

"Well that's one way of learning it, I guess."

* * *

_Ok. I get it. It's late, really late, and I'm SO sorry! My computer broke. And I can't say much for the quickness of the next chapters, considering I'm doing nanowrimo this year! (If you want to look at that, go to ywp. nanowrimo . com [spaced removed] and to see what mines about, search for 'timelordanon')_


	9. Need is the Cornerstone of Learning

It was hours in to the night when the knocking on the door woke Clint up. He woke up instantly, startled. It took him a few moment in his confused state to realize that someone was knocking at the door.

"I'm coming!" He whispered harshly, slowly rising to open the door. It continued however, quick, curt and loud. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he opened the door to reveal no other then Natasha, dressed in black, with her pale face and red hair barley visible in the moonlight.  
"Romanova?" He asked, half yawing. He's used to waking up early, especially when he lived at the farm, but he draws the line at waking up before the sun is out. Natasha quirked an eyebrow, her hands resting on her hips. Clint couldn't help admiring how very lovely she looked in the night, as if she belonged there; like she were the moon itself, reflecting light of the day in to a glow purely her own.

"Barton." She greeted, stepping back in to the grass, motioning for him to follow her.

"Wait, where are we going?" He asked, still following her. The grass was slightly damp, though whether it was from rain or dew, Clint couldn't tell. Natasha did not answer, just kept walking smoothly across the camp ground. Clint sighed.

They ended up at the main tent before it clicked in Clint's mind that they were going to have a lesson. What was it with her and midnight rendezvous to practice complex acrobatic routines? Though, he could not deny that he felt cool, sneaking in to the tent while the stars still shone.

The tent was pitch black when they entered before Natasha, with out any visible fumbling, turned on a light from the small generator. The light slowly illuminated the center ring until it was at full glow, lighting up the rigs and tightrope just enough to practice with. Natasha stepped in to the center of it, tucked her short hair behind her ear and set her mouth in to a straight line.

"Right. Have you been practicing?" She asked. Clint frowned, nearly reminding her that she hadn't told him to practice. But, as it were, he had; and felt he might impress her if he told her so. He was not so very disappointed when the corner of her lips tugged in to a smile, which she quickly turned in to a smirk.

"Good then," She said. "Maybe you won't fall again."

Clint scowled at her as he followed Natasha up the ladder.

"That was your fault as much it was mine, Romanova." He said. Natasha, predictably, did not reply. Simply, she stood to the side of the platform, crossing her arms and prompted him to cross the tightrope. Clint proudly walked across in and back in only a few moments.

"Right. And the trapeze?" His proud smile faltered momentarily, as he hadn't thought to practice them. He swung across with minimal tricks, and fancied that he did fairly well. When he returned, Natasha nodded and spun around, picking something up off of the ground. She turned to face him, handing him the bow and the quiver.

"Shoot." Clint nodded and accepted the bow, not quite sure how to manage it. He walked over to the tightrope and looked down. Clint was never afraid of heights, but as he looked down from the platform to the un-netted ground, he could only imagine himself falling, crashing to the ground, and could not stop himself from thinking that he would.

"Why's there no net?" He asked, voice not shaking. He hoped. He turned back from looking towards the ground to Natasha's smirking face. She unfolded her arms and shrugged.

"Need is the cornerstone of learning, Barton." She said, taking a step closer. "And I'm assuming, of course, you think it pretty important to not die."

Clint groaned, grabbed the quiver from the ground where he had put it, and stepped out on to the tightrope. He did his best, as he stepped a few more times to the middle of the wire, not to think of the ground, far, far below him and how it would hurt when -if- he fell on it.

He instead focused on his breathing, three breaths in and one out, helping him calm himself and focus. When he was in the center, he slowly eased his feet around. When he felt stable enough, he held out his arm with the bow in it. Immediately, he pitched forward. He started panicking, thinking only of the hard ground and no net and-

"Focus, Barton!" Natasha's voice sounded over his thoughts. "I'm not coming out on the goddamn wire to save you."

Clint refrained from laughing, instead focusing on gaining his balance. Three in, one out. He slowly shifted his weight back and to the sides of him until he was no longer in any danger of falling.

"Right, okay, not dead, that's nice." He said quietly. He considered going back to the platform, but then imagined the unholy scowl Natasha would give him if he just gave up. So he stretched out his arm for the second time, remembering to slightly balance himself back words to counteract the weight of the bow. He slowly carefully removed a bow from the quiver slung over his torso and strung it.

"What am I shooting at?" He asked, not seeing any target to aim for.

"Just shoot. We'll worry about that later." She replied, a small part of her accent hiding itself in her sentence. Clint was to focused on not falling to wonder what that meant. He pulled back the string, and, as felt himself start falling back, he shifted his weight forward. He let go of the string, and before seeing where his arrow fell, fell back.

Clint was too panicked at first to think rationally. He could only think that he was going to die. He was going to die, falling off of an tight rope in the middle of the night with Romanova watching.

Speaking of whom, "For God's sake, Barton!" she yelled, and, gaining his senses back, he grabbed the very last trapeze and swung too fast, too far, in to the platform. Natasha had swung towards him moments later. She said something that sounded like 'bojhey', and helped him to his feet.

"What did you say?" He asked curiously, rolling his neck.

"Just something in Russian." She said, distracted.

"What?" He asked. Her Russian speaking added a new layer to her, this complex person he was presented with. Their first meeting had proved her fairly dull, but something changed in this meeting with Natasha, she seemed more relaxed, more sarcastic, more..human. "No, really, tell me what."

"It was 'Good Lord', if you're not going to stop asking." She said harshly.

"I wasn't, so thanks. Where did you learn Russian?" He asked conversationally. Clint wasn't really expecting the almost dark look that past over her, and scowling, she replied quietly. "Russia." She said it with diastase, like a curse she didn't wish to speak. Clint wondered why she hated it, if something happened there.

"Well, obviously." He coughed, fiddling with his hand behind his back. "I'm going to go get the bow." He said, having only realized it would have fallen when he did. Natasha nodded.

In fairness, he hadn't really expected her to be there when he returned, so he walked, almost dead on his feet back to the train car.

When he finally got there, collapsed and fell almost instantly asleep.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, he did not see Barney. Come to think of it, he had not seen Barney since he'd fallen back asleep after his lesson with Natasha. He was a cruel and spiteful person, he supposed, since he found he didn't really care.

He almost immediately gravitated towards Bruce and Peter when he arrived to the fire, where more oatmeal was cooking, and more apples were placed in a small basket to the side of the fire. He was surprised with this new action, since before they'd always come to him, or he had to sit next to them since there was no other room on the few logs they had around it.

"Hey," Peter greeted. "Y'know, if Romanova's going to continue her late night lessons, you might consider sleeping later. You look dead." Clint smiled.

"Thanks. You look healthily rested, you bastard."

Peter laughed a snorting bark of a laugh and Bruce gave a quiet snicker, which Clint had learned equated to a normal laugh of a less timid person.

"It's not a laughing matter! I'm sitting here like a zombie while you two are perfectly fine and happy." He scowled. Bruce laughed a little louder. "Fine, how did you two jerks sleep?"

"Well." They answered at the same time. Clint laughed.

"Good for you." Bruce laughed, but looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Good?" He asked skeptically.

"Good. I am capable of being nice to people even when they've made fun of my exhausted-ness."

_A/N I actually love this chapter! Did you? Drop it in a review, so I update faster. _


	10. A Slight of Hand

A week later and the act was nearly finished. It had taken him longer then he would've liked, and Natasha did have to help him with the physics of it, trying to learn how he should balance himself in order to counteract the weight of the bow.

He woke the morning after they'd decided they no longer needed to practice, feeling much, much more refreshed then usual. He turned over to find the car empty. This was no surprise- Barney seemed to have a habit of disappearing most of the day, only rising early to complete a few chores, then just...disappearing. Clint found he did not care enough to go look. He wasn't...mad, anymore. It was complete apathy towards what happened to his brother. If he wasn't dead, he didn't care.

He washed his face, changed in to his other clothes, and left the car in to the fairground for breakfast He walked to the campfire where the usual oatmeal was cooking (he found out that breakfast only ever was oatmeal and what ever fruit was in season.), but no one was there. He looked around, wondering vaugly if Peter or Bruce was going to jump out from behind something and shout 'Boo!'. Figuring he ought to find someone, he started walking towards the main tent. As he was nearing it, he heard cheers and shouts. He started running to see what was going on.

He entered to see practically the entire circus crew had gathered around someone. The someone wasn't very visible but from what he could tell he had longer black hair, like he hadn't been bothered to cut it. But it was washed and semi-styled, so he could only assume he wasn't living on the streets.

Clint had trouble seeing why there was a large crowd gathered around him, until Peter spotted Clint, pulling him towards the front where Bruce was, and saying "You've gotta see this guy!". When he got closer, Clint could see the boy was probably only about 15, and did not, in fact, look at all like he had been living on the streets. He was standing in the middle of the circle of people absolutely grinning at the crowd. Still smiling, he told everyone in a smooth, quiet whisper to watch him, and everyone grew silent. He clicked his fingers with grandeur and he was gone.

Not just invisable but gone, as if he were never there at all. People were running their hands through the air in front of them, and Clint almost did too, before

"Looking for me?" The boy asked. He was perched on one of the higher platforms, smirking, his arms crossed and eyes scanning the audience. Clint looked over to Peter, who was opening and closing his mouth in astonishment. Even Natasha, far off in the corner, was raising an eyebrow. With a bow, the boy reappeared in to the center and the shocked silence turned in to whooping and clapping.

"That was..wow." Clint said, after the cheering had quieted. Peter nodded (though now half-joking), with his mouth still wide open in shock.

Bruce had his head resting on a closed fist, looking scandalized by the lack of adherence to physical laws.  
The boy bowed again and the Tiboldt yelled, "Back to work!" When everyone but Clint, Peter, Bruce and the boy had left, Tibolt approached him.

"What's your name, then?"

The boy quirked his head and pursed his lips, eyeing him wearily.

"Loki." He answered, in a gaurded sort of voice.

"Okay, Loki. Strange name, isn't it?" Tiboldt asked, crossing his arms and looking suspicious.

"It is. But, as it's mine, you don't have to worry about it." Clint wondered what happened to the smiling, charming boy who stood before a few moments ago, drinking in the attention.

Tiboldt did not answer, just walked off. Clint just noticed Loki's hands clench by his side, and his breathing grow slightly louder. Clint assumed this was because Tibolt did not say he could stay. Clint felt like he ought to comfort him, and Bruce looked like he was already about to. But, as

As Bruce took a step forward, Tiboldt turned around and called them.

"Show him around, Banner, Parker, Barton."

* * *

Loki turned out to be ok. A bit moody, but...alright. He could be fairly charming and very sarcastic, but for the most part he was silent. Clint could see he guarded himself (or nearly) as much as Natasha did, which annoyed him.

So, at the end of their tour, Bruce (who had been leading) turned and smiled, saying he ought to go, but that Peter and Clint should stay with him for a little while to explain how things worked.

But Loki seemed capable, so Clint lead him and Peter to the campfire to eat some apples before starting to work.

"So, what happened?" Clint asked, his mouth full of apple. Loki turned to him.

"What happened to what?" Loki asked, clearly confused.

"I mean, do you live on the streets, are you a pick-pocket, where do you come from, why are you here, is there a reason your hair is so long...?" Loki raised an eyebrow, taking another bite of his apple.

"Why does that concern you?" Loki asked. And there it was, again. The moody, guarded Loki was back. Clint sighed.

"Just wondering." He snapped, starting to get up to see what he had to do today. He thought he might try to find Natasha, perhaps see if they could talk to Tiboldt about their act.

* * *

Clint did not find Natasha, which was aggravating because they could get this act finished a lot faster if she wasn't only available at night. Walking back to the campfire (He had not, unfortunately expected such frigid weather, and not bought a heavy coat.) he entertained himself by thinking up all the reasons Natasha was not available during the day. By the time he reached the fire the list was like so:

1. Natasha is a freakishly beautiful vampire.

2. Natasha is allergic to sunlight.

3. Natasha worked secretly as a part of a gang as the pretty (Okay, sexy. But he still suspected a kick in a inconvenient place from her if he said so), clever, sly only-woman.

and, finally, as he arrived to the campfire, he found the most likely reason of all:

5. Natasha does not busy herself with people unless necessary.

He smiled.

How very Natasha, he thinks, sitting down near the warm flames. Because it is not something that should be lovely, or perfect, or endearing, or alluring, but it is; if for no other reason then that it is her.

* * *

_a/n I'M SORRY I HAD A BROKEN WRIST AND I COULDN'T TYPE I'M SO SORRY also you should review because it is my birthday and that is what people do on other people's birthdays._


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